It may be because I turned 45 this year. Or possibly it’s because I’ve been sleep-deprived for the past 7 months. Either way, I feel very conscious of the fact that I’m living in the second half of my life now. I’ve always wanted it to count and been mindful of how I invest, especially when it comes to my children. But it feels more urgent now. I’m almost to the finish line of raising kids. About 5 more years and then they’ll all be 18+. My days of having them all nearby, available on a Wednesday night to hang out together, are probably pretty limited. Two have already flown from the nest (fortunately not too far away), and one is graduating at the end of this school year. The final 3 will follow in rapid succession. I feel like these final five years are going to be like a mighty whooosh of my chickadees flying out the door and into the world to learn and grow and adventure in new and exciting ways. Like a wild, windy life of nearly 30 years of babies and boys and pets and pancakes and tents and toys and late night talks and kitchen dance parties is going to suddenly be reduced down to a quiet breeze of memories.
I don’t regret one moment of the whirlwind I’ve spent snuggling, reading, listening, laughing, crying, teaching, trying, or indulging my dear ones. I’m willing to bet that you won’t either. Love ’em like these days won’t last forever. Because they won’t.
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